Sparrow
by liamarehorselover
Summary: "I'm quitting." "As Nightwing?" "As a hero."  Drastically OOC, just thought it might be nice to see Bruce taking care of Dick instead of the other way around. Standard disclaimer applies
1. Chapter 1

"Hey little one."

Dick dropped onto the balcony gracefully, settling himself behind Damian and letting the boy lean back against his knees. He'd discovered how much Damian enjoyed this position a few months in to his tenure as the Dark Knight, when he'd had to keep the boy awake for concussion checks. Every other position had made the boy fretful and angry, but this, Dick had tried this and Damian had been like putty in his hands.

Now as the boy settled he began carding the fingers of one hand through the boy's hair, feeling Damian relax against him, a pleased sound coming from inside his chest. It almost sounded like purring. He'd laughed the first time he'd heard it, but now it was a sort of reassurance that not everything was amiss in his world.

"I heard you got into a fight today."  
>"Mmm."<br>"I'm taking that as a yes."

"I didn't start it." the protest was softly spoken, but Dick heard the desperation there, and just continued stroking the boy's hair, telling him, "I heard that too."

They sat silently for another long few minutes, then Dick asked, "What was it about?"  
>"Just stupid kids."<br>"Yeah?"  
>"Saying stupid things."<br>"Ah."

"Ah?" The boy whirled around, indignant, "Ah? That's all you have to say? I was impugned."  
>"I know." He kept stroking the boy's hair, telling him, "I've been impugned too."<br>"What did they call you?"

He winced a little, recalling some of the names he'd been given, "Circus Brat. Carnie. Flying Freak."

Damian asked, "What did you do?"  
>Dick sighed, "I took it mostly. I think I punched one boy. What did they call you today, little one?"<br>"Bruce's bastard."  
>Dick hissed through his teeth when he heard that, finally saying, "They're idiots, little one. Idiots say what they please."<br>A pathetic little nod, then Damian asked, in a voice Dick did not recognize, "Is it true? Does Bruce not want me?"  
>"Little one." His heart broke at those words, remembering his own insecurities at his abandonment by his parents. "Bruce loves you, Damian. You wouldn't believe how thrilled he was when you came to live with him. He didn't want to leave you, and now that he's back, he's afraid."<br>"Afraid?" Damian sounded doubtful, "Of what?"  
>Dick sighed, "Of making your relationship worse. He wants to be close to you, which means he tries too hard. Does that make sense?"<br>A slow, sleepy nod. Dick smiled, then asked, "You want to go inside now, little one?"  
>Another nod. He picked the boy up before he went inside, groaning as his back twinged, Bruce was there when he went through the window, relieving him of his burden quickly. "Thanks."<br>Bruce nodded, and sat down on the bed, tucking a sleepy Damian under the covers. "You all right?"  
>Dick nodded. He never liked it when his back acted up around Bruce, the man always got so fussy about it. He sighed, then said, "I actually need to talk to you."<p>

"All right." Bruce reached over and flicked Damain's comm unit on so they could hear if he needed anything, then led Dick into his study, guiding him to a chair at the head of the desk.

He remembered when he'd asked if he could sit there to do his homework, how – for lack of a better word- pleased, Bruce had been.  
>Bruce poured himself some Scotch and got Dick a Coca – cola, then asked, "What's on your mind, Sparrow?"<br>He paused at the old nickname, something Bruce only called him when he felt an especial need for reassurance, then sighed. Was he that easy to read?  
>Eventually he just shrugged and admitted, "I'm quitting."<br>"As Nightwing?"

"As a hero." 


	2. Chapter 2

Of all my children, Dick was always the one that I was closest to, and that hasn't changed even now. If I had to choose I would say that Dick and Damian were probably my favorites, though nowadays there isn't much competition. Tim is hardly ever around, and when he is, it's more for convenience than love, and Jason – Jason is a subject best left alone at night.

When he told me he was quitting tonight, though I know it's terrible and selfish, I had been relieved. Dick in Bludhaven, Dick on his own, always, always terrified me. Whenever he'd been hurt it was as if my whole world stopped until I heard that he was all right again.

When he'd told me that, and he'd looked at me, he'd seemed so – tired. And I had understood. Being Batman is exhausting, especially for one as young as Dick. At twenty-four he's younger than I was when I first started.

And it's no wonder that he's tired. He's been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for far too long.

I listen as he gives me reason after reason, waiting patiently for him to be done. He's not babbling, I know. He needs to get this out.

"My back's always bothering me, and I'm slipping, Bruce. It's hard to admit, but I'd rather now before I kill myself, and - "  
>"You're exhausted."<br>"Yes. Yes." He's relieved now, I know, and he puts his head in his hands, the heels of his palms digging into the sockets around his eyes. He'll leave bruises, he's done it before, and it's a matter of habit for me to pull his hands away, tell him, "That's enough Dick. Come on." I heave him up, letting him put most of his weight on me when his right knee almost takes him down again. That knee hasn't been right for years. He chuckles a little, it's a pained, broken sort of sound and I hush him, like I used to do when he had nightmares. "It's all right Dick."  
>"I'm so tired." his voice is strained and hoarse and it makes my throat hurt just to hear it. I tell him, "I know. It's all right. We'll get you to bed, then we can keep talking if you want."<br>He must be more exhausted than I thought, because it's been years since I've seen him so docile. He lets me guide him up the stares, into his bedroom, takes his pajamas obediently, and heads into the bathroom, comes out a few minutes later, his hair wet and his pajamas on. I let him get into bed, pull the comforters over him, tell him, "Talk to me."  
>He speaks slowly, as though each word is an effort. "My back hurts all the time, I'm afraid I'm going to throw it out one of these days. Knee needs surgery, which I can't have unless I can be off my feet for three months. Bludhaven PD had to let me go because I can't pass a fitness exam, can't run anymore. Haven't heard from the Titans in months and I'm just - " He closes his eyes, opens them again, and I can see the look on his face, "I'm so tired."<p>

He looks so anxious, and it breaks my heart. My son shouldn't worry so much about being a masked superhero. I could care less about that.

I take his hand and tell him, "You're my son."

He understands what I mean, because his eyes start to close just as he tells me, "Thank you."  
>I put a hand on his forehead, tell him, "Go to sleep, little sparrow."<p>

Damian is sitting at the kitchen table when I get up the next morning, he asks where Dick is. I tell him, "He's still asleep."  
>"He's still asleep?"<p>

"Yes." when Damian stands to wake him up I stop him with a hand on his arm, "Damian, we need to let him sleep."

"Why? He's not sick is he? Did he get hurt?" he seems almost frantic, and I tell him, "He's just tired, Damian. He's going through a tough time. He needs his family."  
>My son cocks his head, then asks, "Like how we needed him last year?"<br>"Yes. Like that."

"Okay. Can I see him after school?"

"Absolutely." I draw him into my arms and give him a hug, remembering what Dick had told me about Damian, that he craves affection. It's amazing how immediately content he becomes, making a sound deep in his chest as I pull him up into my lap and bring his plate over from the table, reading my paper as he eats. Once he's done, I tell him, "You go to school now, hmm? You can see Dick tonight."


	3. Chapter 3

Dick kept falling asleep.

He would wake for a few minutes, enough time to eat something or get up so that someone could change the sheets. But his life seemed to consist of an odd combination of stops and starts. Bruce called the doctor when he stayed in bed the second straight day, and she told him it was exhaustion, to just let him sleep.

Bruce checked in on him as much as he could, Damian would just come and sit on the bed with him, doing his homework. Tim even stopped by a couple of times, though he seemed unnaturally offended by the fact that he kept falling asleep on him.

He woke up one afternoon to see Damian staring at him, crying and sniffling. He brought one hand up to rub his face, "Wha's the matter, kiddo?"  
>Damian asked, "Are you dying?"<br>He was stunned, "What?"  
>"Are you dying. 'Cuz when one of the old men at Rhas al G'hul got sick he slept a lot before he died - "<p>

Dick tried not to laugh ,"I wasn't planning on it. I'm just tired."

The relief on the boy's face might have been comical were it not for the fear that had been there before. He sighed and asked, "You know how bad you felt when you had all those nightmares? How you never got to sleep?"

Damian nodded, and he said, "I haven't gotten to sleep for a long time now is all. My body's decided that I'm going to rest now. That's all. I'm not dying."  
>He held out one arm and let Damian crawl over to him, laying down in the crook of his arm. He stayed there even once Dick had fallen back to sleep.<p>

After a week or two he was awake more often, even most of the time. He was still feeling shaky enough to stay in bed, but he was certainly mending. He felt more content than he had in years. Eventually, he knew that he would have to get up, get on with the rest of his life, but right now he was more than happy to stay in bed and read. Bruce brought him books every morning, either from his apartment or from the bookstore. Damian came and did his homework with him, getting help if he needed it. Sometimes Dick wondered if he asked just to get close to him, to have him explain something, teach something.

Alfred always brought him dinner and ate with him while Bruce and Damian were out on patrol. The older man had always been close to Dick, and this was no exception. Dick had always enjoyed listening to his stories, and this was no exception.

When the doctor came again she told him that he needed the surgery, needed it quite badly actually. He told her he'd think about it and then never did, but apparently she told Bruce because one Saturday as he's limping from the shower he finds the man sitting at his desk.

"Can I help you?"  
>"Why didn't you tell me?"<br>"What?" He was trying to think about what he might have needed to tell Bruce about, but nothing's coming to him. He shrugs, "What didn't I tell you?"  
>"That you need knee surgery."<br>"Oh, that? No reason. Didn't want to I geuss."  
>"Dick, you need the surgery."<br>"It's fine."  
>"Then why can't you put weight on it."<br>"It's fine." He walks out.

He avoids Bruce the rest of the day, the rest of the weekend, until Monday is there and he's walking downstairs with Damian and talking to him and he turns a little and feels something in his knee snap and then he's down on the stairs and all he can think is his knee hurts hurts hurts so bad he might die, and Damian is bending over him and telling him, "Get Bruce."  
>And things get fuzzy from the pain and from Bruce picking him up and the pills that Alfred gets him to swallow, and even though he throws half of them up again a minute or so after he manages to swallow them, they still must work some because he comes around eventually, and Bruce is sitting there and he tells him, "You're having the surgery on Saturday." and he doesn't disagree.<p>

When he wakes up from the surgery he's disorientated and in pain, because he doesn't react well to anesthetic, but it's all right because everyone's there and everyone's telling him, "You're fine. It's all right."  
>And who knows, maybe it was.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

I'm not too surprised when Clark stops by the next day. When Alfred comes to Dick's door and informs me that I have company I nod soundlessly and step to the door, trying not to wake my son. Dick's been restless and edgy ever since the surgery, the pain in his knee bringing back painful memories no doubt. He's sleeping now though, and I don't want to wake him, so instead I stand silently and pull the comforters over his shoulder, telling him, "I'll be there in a minute."  
>I stop by Damian's room, tell him, "Go sit with your brother", and he nods, standing obediently. He might not know what has unsettled Dick so, but he seems to understand my desire not to leave him alone.<p>

I wander downstairs to where Clark's standing in the hallway and greet him cautiously. I've never been exactly positive where Clark and I stand, he's always been a little too rules oriented for me, but I think I know what he's here for today.

He looks up when I come in, telling me, "I appreciate you seeing me."  
>"You didn't give me much choice."<br>He shrugs, "Dick needs to decide who's subbing for him in Bludhaven while he's laid up here."

I hesitate, then sigh. It'll have to come out eventually. "Dick's retiring."  
>Clark freezes, and he looks surprisingly concerned, "Is he that badly hurt?"<br>I shake my head, "No. Not exactly."  
>"Than what's the matter with him?"<p>

I bristle at the phrase, then tell him, "Nothings wrong, Clark. He's worn out. He's retiring."  
>I had expected another response besides the one he gave. He ran a hand through his hair, then asked, "So he went back to the Tower then."<p>

"No." I'm confused, "No, he's staying here."  
>"But he retired."<br>"And…"  
>"And if he's not Nightwing anymore…"<br>I catch on fast enough, tell him, "No, Clark, he's not Nightwing anymore. But he's still my son."

Clark runs a hand through his hair, then asks, "Is there any chance that he'll reconsider?"  
>"I doubt it."<br>I turn and leave him then, going back upstairs, Damian sees me and smiles making room for me on the couch. He leans against me slightly as I look at Dick, then asks, "He looks young."  
>"He is young." He's only twenty – five. I forget that. I nod at the position he's in and say, "He's always slept that way."<br>"Really?"  
>"Really. When he was younger he had a rabbit under the other arm."<br>Damian's eyes widen, "He did not."  
>"Oh yeah. Plush. Blue. Bow tie. The whole works."<br>I don't tell him the whole story of that, of how the social worker had taken the original from him and forgotten to give it back, and I'd had to find him a new one before he would go to sleep. He'd only been five at the time I think. Way too young.

Damian snickers, "I can't wait to tease him about that -"  
>I refrain form pointing out that he sleeps with a ratty blanket that's more shreds that fabric. I don't particularly desire to drive Domain to use those pointy little elbows that Dick's been teaching him to throw.<p>

Tim taught him how to organize his notes. Dick taught him street fighting. I should be angry, but I can't quite manage it.

I smile at my youngest, then sya, "I've got something to take care of, Damian. You all right here?"

He nods, going to curl up on the bed. Dick stirs just enough to pull the blankets over him sleepily, and then goes back to sleep himself.

I smile and leave my sons upstairs.

Both of them.


End file.
